


... Kinship

by raiyana



Series: A Question of... [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23855023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: Glorfindel tries to understand, and Erestor is surprised by his reactions.
Relationships: Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien)
Series: A Question of... [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1583737
Kudos: 16





	... Kinship

“You… are a spy?” Glorfindel asked, still reeling from his talk with Elrond – dressing down might be more accurate, in truth – when he accidentally stumbled across Erestor sitting on one of the marble benches along the wall of the courtyard where Lindir’s troupe of musicians were practising.

At the incredulous tone, Erestor looked up from his book – a treatise on Númenorean law that his agent had brought back along with the reports Erestor had collated for Elrond – and scowled at Glorfindel. The Captain might not wish to kill him – though Erestor remained unconvinced; he hadn’t lived as long as he had by believing in sweet promises, no matter how golden the voice that spoke them – but Erestor was annoyed with the disruptive interrogations. How many times would he need to prove himself the master of his Darkness before the bull-headed Captain would accept that he wasn’t a mindless animal bent on sating his bloodlust?

Not that he didn’t indulge the need regularly; living among civilisation would be impossible, otherwise, even if he only feasted on animals. Elven blood might not be as delicious to him as to an Orc, but he would never deny that it was palatable to his tongue.

The admission annoyed him as much as the Captain who kept reminding him of that truth.

“Yes…” he replied, raising an eyebrow at Glorfindel who did him the favour of blushing, bringing that sweet-musk-tangy scent of him to life in Erestor’s nose.

 _Delicious_ …

Erestor pretended not to notice; it was floral, of course, because he was an Elf, but overlaid with musky notes of exertion – Glorfindel had been practising in the yard, earlier, he guessed – and something deliciously _wild_ , which sadly was overpowered by the smell of his horse clinging to his clothes.

Erestor didn’t much like horses.

They weren’t even tasty.

“You seem surprised,” he mocked lightly, closing his book around a finger to mark his place; books were so much easier than scrolls, in that way.

“Just… you’re a _Librarian_ ,” Glorfindel spluttered, “I’ve never even seen you train with a weapon –”

Erestor grinned at him, deliberately letting his tongue swipe across his teeth.

“– oh.”

“I am a Loremaster, Captain,” he chided gently, tapping the book with his other hand, “what need have I of weapons training?” Not that he wasn’t a capable warrior with a blade, too, favouring a curved sword of Celebrimbor’s devising. Travelling without visible arms invited the attentions of fools, he had found, and it was a nuisance to dispose of the bodies in some places.

Glorfindel’s flush deepened.

“Still!” he continued, “I do not understand.”

“Fortunately,” Erestor quipped, “my role does not require your understanding, good Captain.”

But Glorfindel did not stalk off in anger as expected, chuckling in something like genuine amusement and folded himself into the seat next to Erestor instead – making the bench feel suddenly too small for two people.

“It’s a fine tune,” Glorfindel remarked, nodding at Lindir.

Erestor did not reply.

But he did not open his book either, staring at the musicians without truly noticing them, trying to decide what exactly Glorfindel smelled like, feeling his hunger stir despite his recent hunt. That wild musk of a warm-blooded predator, he thought, and orange blossoms, maybe, like the ones that grew in Umbar, mingling with something sweet…

“You smell like horse,” he grumbled, wrinkling his nose.

“I thought you said I smelled delicious!” Glorfindel protested, those blue eyes laughing for a moment when Erestor failed to mask his chagrin at the memory of his lapse in self-control in the Library. “Or do you mean that you find the smell of horses irresistibly delicious?”

“No, I’m trying to decide what _you_ smell like – Elrond is a rose, of some kind, and musty paper and sharp ink, mingling with a breath of pine, for example,” he explained, brows knitting together as he wondered why it was worth trying to work out the proper components of Glorfindel’s scent. “But the smell of horse seems to drown parts of yours in an unpleasant way.”

“No offense,” Glorfindel began, “but I feel like that should make me pleased, somehow.”

Erestor laughed, surprising them both, by the way Glorfindel tensed beside him.

“Perhaps you should at that,” he agreed sagely. “But you can’t hide that you’re an elf – did you know that the Orcish word for elf means flower-blooded? They characterise a lot of things by smell; their senses in that area are much keener than yours…” He trailed off, well-aware that most people only liked to think of Orcs as dumb animals to be killed, not as the sentient beings that he knew they were.

Not that he particularly liked Orcs, as a general rule, but he’d spent too long among them to discount their culture, brutal though it was for the most part to the gentler natures born in Elves.

Glorfindel hummed thoughtfully, looking at him like Erestor was a puzzle he wanted to solve.

“That is how I could be a spy,” Erestor added softly. He still would, when needed, but he’d been in the game for so long that he’d acquired the sort of knowledge that made him a better spymaster than field agent. Sometimes, he rather missed the incomparable thrill. “To an orc’s nose I smell like… not quite _kin_ , but not food, either – and not _Elf_.” Which was the same as food, to some tribes, admittedly, and a fair approximation in a pinch to most. “I am…” _Son of Shadows_ , her voice crooned in his mind. Erestor shivered lightly.

“So…” Glorfindel said, breaking Erestor’s cycle of thought. “What do I smell like besides horse?”

“Sweet tanginess,” he replied unthinkingly, “like Umbarian orange trees, and musk – like a big cat; you’ve seen lynxes?”

Glorfindel nodded, staring at him.

“Also something else,” Erestor admitted, “but I can’t quite nail it…”

“Captain, the patrol is returned!”

“Duty calls,” Glorfindel muttered, getting to his feet with a slight sigh. “Enjoy the performance, Loremaster,” he added, walking off with an almost-not nod; still not sure that Erestor was deserving of the respect due his rank, then, Erestor thought, feeling a weary sort of anger as he followed those broad shoulders with his eyes for a moment before turning back to his book, letting Lindir’s harp flit through his mind as he read.


End file.
